


The Feral Cub

by shouldgowork



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Jaskier's Diss Track, M/M, Post-Episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23876932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldgowork/pseuds/shouldgowork
Summary: Geralt hasn't seen Jaskier since their argument, but that doesn't mean he hasn't heard him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	The Feral Cub

The first time Geralt heard one of Jaskier’s songs, sung by some reed-voiced boy in some dirty tavern, he felt a vicious stab of pleasure. He’d been completely right. Everything he’d ever said about the vapidness of Jaskier’s lyrics was undeniable when performed by someone with less talent than - no, he corrected himself - by someone even worse than Jaskier. Empty fluff, with questionable rhymes. Nothing more. Why people loved them so much, he’d never understand.

The second time he heard one of Jaskier’s songs, the foolish girl got the words wrong, and Geralt found himself strangely bothered by this. He wanted to correct her, so she’d sing it right, so it was accurate (the irony using that word on Jaskier’s lyrics was not lost on him). It made him angry she didn’t know the words - it made him even angrier that he himself did. In the end he compromised with himself by sitting quietly in the corner and glowering at her until she stopped, and he found peace again. 

The third time, the realisation of what he was hearing stole over him slowly and uncomfortably, settling in his stomach like a heavy, heated stone. For it was only after a couple of stanzas he realised that, while the horrifically bad writing and overuse of the minor key marked the song out as Jaskier’s, he had never heard it before. This one was new. This one was after him. Of course, he knew that Jaskier hadn’t ceased to exist, that he was still out in the world. It was just that Geralt hadn’t needed a reminder of that fact. He stood up and left, standing out in the pouring rain until the bard finally finished. 

The third time, though, hardly prepared him for the fourth. 

The bard was part way through a half-hearted rendition of one of Jaskier’s latest hits, his mind far more focussed on the proud barmaid, feigning disinterest and looking to keep feigning it far longer than he’d like, than it was on the song. Suddenly he noticed that the room had grown strangely dark. No, he realised, as he looked up, the light of the sconces were merely being blocked by a very tall, very grim-faced individual who seemed to be muttering at him, although sudden panic had set his ears ringing loudly. 

‘S- Sorry?’ The bard found himself saying, a little shakily. 

‘The song.’ The man - no, the witcher - before him said through gritted teeth. ‘Start it. Again.’ 

He thrust out a coin like a dagger, and the bard was not about to refuse either the coin itself or the prospect of keeping all his internal organs… internal, which were both fairly tempting. He cleared his throat and started the song again. 

There once lived a man, incomparably fair,   
And considered an excellent fellow  
But though his life was the envy of all,  
For some reason his heart felt so hollow.

One day his kind eye - for that he was too -  
Fell upon a lonely white cub,  
The whelp shivered, and snarled, and bared little fangs,  
But the gentle man wouldn't give up.

Now, allow this good bard to paint a clear picture   
Of the cub: dirty, riddled, and mangy   
The only thing worse than its bark and its bite  
Was its smell, which made the man queasy.

He took the small wretch into his heart and home,  
He bathed it, he fed it, he gave it a bone.

And for a long while - the best years of his life -  
All seemed to go well for the pair,  
But one frightful day, when the man least expected,  
The hound bit him hard on his pair.

Bitter tears marred the cheeks of the beautiful man,  
Not just from the pain but the misery  
'cause it hit him like the blow of a sharp dwarven axe -  
He was victim to his own great folly.

He saw it so clearly, what he missed before,  
The truth that hurt more than his privates:  
That what nature made feral, and fate has made cruel,  
Must be left to its beastly devices.

A wolf, is a wolf, is a wolf. 

The bard’s voice quavered a little towards the end as he heard the sound of leather gloves creaking on a balling fist, and was more than a little relieved to get to the end with all his teeth intact. He risked a peek up at the witcher’s face, which was both a million miles away, and more murderous than a devourer. 

‘Sir?’ He risked, wishing to end the tension by any means possible, but to his relief the witcher relaxed his hands, if not his expression.

‘Mangy?’ The witcher muttered, looking, for just a second, inexplicably wounded. The bard’s eye fell to the talisman he was wearing, and noticed for the first time it was a wolf. Maybe witcher’s just took all slights against the species personally. He wasn’t really sure how creatures like that worked. 

Luckily, the brooding mass simply wandered back to his seat and the bard found himself able to resume his work. He snuck a sly look over at the barmaid, who was looking both relieved and flustered, and he felt a rush of gratitude as he returned her shy smile with a wink. He owed the witcher thanks, really. With that he had a bright idea, and he took up his lute to begin an enthusiastic rendition of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher.


End file.
